Lord Beast (22 page)

Knowing that Dani’s aging aunt
and uncle were somewhere in the house, Rhys’s efforts to remain quiet became
heroic. He should be awarded a medal of valour just for staving off his body’s
natural reactions.

The little wench was asleep.

Snorting quietly, Rhys curiously
righted a toppled stool next to her vanity and set the flowers atop it,
wondering whether he should wake her or let her be.

Sod it.

She was the one who wanted a
proper proposal; she could bloody well be awake to witness it.

He stomped to the edge of her
bed…

And paused.

Danielle Carmichael was not an
elegant sleeper. Her pretty mouth hung open and gentle snores drifted around
the room, occasionally interrupted by gargle of some sort. It was not an
unpleasant sound, unlike the savagery occurring down the hall, and Rhys had to
grin. She lay half on her back, her legs tucked under the gown she wore, and he
couldn’t help admiring the swell of her breasts above the fabric of the
neckline. Her hair lay in disarray around her face, tentacles spread artlessly
against the whiteness of her pillows.

He was a fool. In several days,
this wisp of a woman had shattered all the carefully-laid barriers he had
erected to protect himself from exactly this sort of thing. It was not a difficult
concept to imagine himself married to Danielle. In fact, it downright pleased him.
Immensely. She would be his and no other’s. The thought of her in his bed every
night for the rest of their lives gave him a vast feeling of contentment.

Still the worries and the doubts
plagued him, but they were largely insignificant compared to the happiness he
experienced just by looking at her drooling slightly on her pillow. If he could
feel such euphoria, such longing, then surely he could find some way to make her
just as happy. Rhys was willing to sacrifice everything for her now and once
they were married, and if it meant allowing people to invade his privacy, then
so be it. If Dani needed the occasional picnic or ball to keep her happy, he
would oblige her dutifully. Nothing seemed to matter as much as the woman
snoring softly on a bed of white linen, wearing the tightest gown he’d ever
seen on a person. All his insecurities, all his scars… that didn’t matter now.

“Danielle,” he breathed softly,
not sure if he intended to say it.

A snore an octave louder than all
the others was his answer.

He sighed and sat down on the
edge of the bed. Gently, tenderly, he touched her shoulder and gave her a
little shake, bending down close to her face and murmuring, “Danielle, wake
up.”

With an uproarious grunt, she
lurched upright, eyes flaring, and collided against his forehead.

He was sure she broke his head.

If not, then definitely cracked
his skull.

Cursing, Rhys rubbed his aching
forehead, giving her a glare for measure. He noted that she, too, was in a
considerable amount of agony, rubbing her face furiously.

“I’m sorry!” she whined achingly.

“It’s quite alright,” Rhys
remarked dryly. “I’ll ensure to keep my distance from slumbering dragons in the
future or, lest I forget, ensure to cover my head with a helmet.”

She studied him in an ill-amused
manner, her lips pursed as she dropped her hand from her forehead. “You’re
late.”

“Am I?” Rhys asked wryly. “I
wasn’t aware that we had set a time. Pray tell, what hour had you deigned
unlate in your mind?”

“
Unlate
is not a word,”
she retorted haughtily.

“It is now.”

At that, she looked incredulous
before her lips twitched. Rhys knew she was about to smile but was fighting off
the urge stoically. “The point is,” she continued, the sternness in her voice
wobbling, “that you are late and-”

“I am
not
late.”

“- it is impolite to keep a lady
waiting,” she finished pointedly.

Rhys nearly laughed at her
indignation when he had but moments ago come across her sleeping like a baby.
Waiting, indeed. “Correct me if I am wrong,” he began laughingly, “but is it
not ill-mannered to fall
asleep
during the wait for one’s assignation?”

Her mouth fell open in shock, a
blush spreading across her cheeks. “You beast!” she hissed, but her eyes were
dancing with laughter. “How utterly despicable to point that out. I would have
thought-”

“Oh, do indulge me on your
thoughts, Miss Carmichael,” he growled huskily, leaning in to her so that she
was forced to lie partly against her pillows. “I would
love
to know what’s
swimming around in that little head of yours.”

“Little?” Her brows were pulled
together in a frown and Rhys resisted the urge to kiss the puckered skin
between her eyes. He was smiling, a few inches from her face, and she was not.
The little vixen was clearly not amused by his teasing. “You, sir, are a
derogative, conceited-”

“Charming-”

“Arrogant-”

“Deceptively personable-”

“Boorish baboon!” she finished
heatedly with a triumphant smile.

“Boorish baboon?” Rhys repeated
before bursting with laughter. She was adorable, not to mention innovative. “I
have been called many things,” he chuckled, “but a baboon?”

She was pert when she next
replied, “I think it is a suitable description.”

“I think you are a vexing woman.”

Dani placed a hand on his
shoulder and pushed him away, her eyes narrowed. “This is hardly the romantic
proposal I was promised! You are not providing enough incentive for a positive
response, my lord.”

Rhys smiled wolfishly. “I can
think of many ways to give you incentive,” he told her suggestively, “but we’d
first have to get that ridiculous gown off-”

“Lord Ashcroft, I was promised
flowers and romance,” she interrupted him quickly, blushing, “and I shan’t be
appeased until I get it.”

Rhys sighed. He had been enjoying
getting her flustered. “Fine. Close your eyes.”

She looked at him suspiciously.

“Just do it.”

With one last wary glance, she
did as he told her to. “No peeking,” he reminded her as he rose off the bed and
collected the tulips. Unceremoniously, he dumped them in her lap.

Dani looked down, surprised,
before turning wide eyes onto him. “You shouldn’t have,” she said
sarcastically. “And here I was, worried.”

“You said you wanted flowers,” he
protested, recalling the trouble he went through dragging them through her
window.

“What point are the flowers
without the romance?” she sighed, almost forlornly, before gathering the
dishevelled blooms and taking them to her vanity and setting them carefully
down. “Thank you, though. They are quite lovely.”

She stood and faced him, her
hands held in front of her, and her innocence struck him profoundly. Ingenuousness
and loveliness squeezed into a dress two sizes too small for her, yet absurdly
long. Her toes peeked out from under a hem that dragged on the floor. Despite
all this, she looked delightfully pretty, her hair draped over her shoulders
and back. It was one of the few times he had seen her hair loose, long and
thick, as it coiled towards her waist.

“You know I am not good with this
sort of thing,” he admitted grumpily, hating the expectance he saw in her wide
blue eyes as she studied him from across the room.

“Rubbish,” she said with a smile,
“you just need practise, that’s all.”

“Danielle, you don’t understand.
I wouldn’t even know how to begin.”

She chewed her lip thoughtfully,
a smile in her eyes, while she mulled something over. Rhys couldn’t imagine how
he’d managed to resist her for this long. Even now, the only prominent thought
in his mind was the inviting bed in her little room and how she would look in
it naked.

“I suppose I could help you,” she
broached slowly, a mischievous look in her eyes.

“Help me in what way?” Rhys asked
warily.

“Oh, you know.” Dani waved her
hand flippantly through the air. “I can give you a few tips. Instructions,
even. I would find that quite acceptable.”

“I’m sure you would,” Rhys
grumbled.

Dani frowned. “Are you adverse to
the idea?”

Rhys sighed before answering,
“No. Instruct away.”

“Good.” She grinned and pulled
one tulip from the bouquet, the one that looked the least harassed, and quickly
brought it over to him, forcing his hand closed around the waxy stem. Looking
up at him quizzically, she quickly righted a lock of black hair that stubbornly
fell across his brow. After two attempts to tame the wayward lock, she seemed
to settle for his tousled look with a perturbed one of her own.

Rhys thought that he should be
granted immediate access into the pearly gates of heaven for his divine
patience at allowing the stubborn chit to assess him as such. God, he’d punched
men for less.

She even straightened his cravat
and made it a little tighter before attempting to smooth out a crease on his
sleeve.

Finally, she took a step back and
surveyed him critically from head to toe. “Right,” she murmured approvingly,
“that ought to do.”

“Danielle,” Rhys gritted out
warningly.

She grinned, unmoved by his tone,
before tripping lightly back to the spot across the room she had vacated to
tamper with his person. She held her hands in front of her and gave him a
cheerful smile. “I think you’re ready,” she told him admiringly.

“Ready for what?”

“For your instructions.” Gently,
she rocked on the balls of her feet before looking pointedly at his legs.
“First, you should get down on one knee.”

“Why?”

Dani rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that
what a gentleman is supposed to do when he is about to propose to a lady?” she
asked rhetorically.

“I’m hardly a gentleman,” he
growled.

She made a condescending sound of
agreement that he wasn’t sure he approved of. “We shall have to
pretend
that you are,” she told him in a deliberately patient voice. “Just for tonight,
anyway.”

Rhys merely glared at her-
thunderously.

Huffing a sigh, she gestured to
the knee in question. “If you please, Lord Ashcroft,” she said tartly. “I
assure you, the floor will not bite you, nor do we have termites. Your safety
is assured.”

Begrudgingly, and glaring at her
to make sure that
she
knew it was begrudgingly, he got down on one knee.
“OW!”

Her eyes widened with alarm.
“What’s the matter?” she asked concernedly.

“I think the floor bit me.”

Her lips pursed and she gave him
a humourless glare. “This is a very serious matter, my lord.”

“Of course.”

“I hope you are taking it as
seriously as I.”

“I wouldn’t take it any other
way, Miss Carmichael.”

She looked at him sternly.
“You’re teasing me.”

“Me? Never.”

“Hmm.” Dani glanced at the tulip
in his hand, choosing to ignore that line of conversation for the time being.
“Now, secondly, you should raise the flower up towards me.”

Deliberately, he shook the thing
at her.

“No, no,” she admonished, showing
him exactly what to do by extending her arm at an angle in front of her. “Like
this.”

He complied, brandishing the
tulip like a sword. She sighed and didn’t try to correct the stance. “Right,
now you must declare your fondness for me.”

He made a strangled sound.

“Oh, come. It’s not so bad. Look,
I’ll give you the lines and you can just repeat them to me.” She gave him an
encouraging smile and when he didn’t say anything to contradict her, she
continued, “Repeat after me: Miss Carmichael, your loveliness overwhelms me to
the extent I write sonnets in your name-”

“What?”

“-and I am besotted with the
sound of your melodious voice. Oh, my dove, sing for me-”

“Danielle, this is
ridiculous
!”
Rhys barked, climbing to his feet and throwing the tulip on the bed. Her
laughing eyes watched him studiously, her fingers ill-concealing her smiling
lips. “I’m
not
some clumsy love-sick fop attempting to court you, poorly
at that. I won’t ever be.” Rhys shoved his hand into the pocket of his trousers
and yanked out the small box that Gabriel had given him a couple of nights ago.
“I
am
a man of four and thirty years, of ill-temperament and bouts of
uncontrollable anger, yet somehow I find myself lucky enough to have the
affections of a stubborn country miss who has plagued me for a proposal since
the day we met-”

She gasped indignantly. “I most
certainly have
not
!”

He gave her an authoritative look
before continuing. “The point is, Miss Carmichael, is that I am here now,
proposing to you in the only way I know how- in anger, as you seem to evoke the
reaction constantly of late. Lord help me, but I think I’d enjoy being married
to you and for the life of me, I can’t possibly imagine why you would even want
marry me.” He paused, staring at the box for a moment before flipping it open.
“So, I guess what I’m saying is, will you do me the honour-”